If I am brutally honest then I am not the most ‘enlightened’ soul on the planet but then I am but a result of my life. I cannot be sure whether this post will be understood or is simply a result of my old age and failure to understand, and embrace, the modern world but hey it has never stopped me before!

Over the course of last weekend I had cause to walk along the high street, so far so good. Walking in the opposite direction was a little old lady, who must have been in her eighties, discussing plans for the day with her companion and this is where it gets weird. The companion must have been in his sixties and was dressed as a woman!

My concern with this is not that he was dressed as a woman, far be it from me to conclude that clothes are designed for specific sexes, after all if fat men can grow breasts why can’t they wear bras?* What confused me was that the decision to dress as a woman appeared to kick in at 60.

The application of make-up and difficulty in walking were clear indications that this was not a practiced individual So what on earth makes a guy of 60 decide that not only is he tired of dressing as a man but that he has always rather hankered over the idea of being an old lady? If you were giving him marks out of ten for style and execution it would be zero all round, in fact were it not for the make-up I would have accepted the story that he was blind and got dressed in his mother’s room by mistake.

Whilst I have never had any inclination to adopt the clothing of the fairer sex I am guessing that any desire to do so would be fuelled by pictures of models in glossy magazines. Surely the prospect of messing about in complicated articles of clothing and the shear inconvenience of having to select items from a wardrobe on anything other than a ‘what’s next ‘ basis would have to be traded against the concept of cleavage relief** Not for this fella, all he wanted in life was woollen cardigans, lavender scent and thatcher handbags.

The final part of this conundrum was that the bloke was a good six-foot tall, his companion would be lucky to stretch to five foot two, so I am not entirely sure that she was aware what was happening. Clearly she was not labouring under any misconception that her companion was a dapper business suited gent but I am not sure that, from all the way down there, she realised the car crash in a make-up case that was alongside her.

I imagine at her height her companion appeared to be a little unsteady on ‘her’ feet and perhaps she even thought that ‘she’ had let herself go but I remain convinced that she would have been as shocked as I was to see a face that was some odd combination of Margret Thatcher and the Joker from Batman. It is, as they say, a funny old world or perhaps more accurately a perfectly normal world filled with funny old people!

*See I can be politically correct!

**The means by which speeding tickets disappear

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